


'What's Wrong, Sherlock?'

by itsybitsyish



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Death, Loss, M/M, Mourning, Parents, father - Freeform, mother - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-03-03 00:24:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13329576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsybitsyish/pseuds/itsybitsyish
Summary: Something's the matter with Sherlock, and John is worried.When Sherlock breaks down, John learns just what's wrong and does what he can to comfort Sherlock as best he can.





	'What's Wrong, Sherlock?'

As John sat at the table, having his morning cup of earl grey, he thought something seemed a little different about Sherlock.  
It wasn't something he'd noticed before, and wondered if perhaps Sherlock was feeling a bit ill.  
'Are you all right?' John asked Sherlock, who was sitting in his black chair in the den staring out the window in a strange sort of manner.  
Sherlock blinked, clearing his throat.  
Well, at least Sherlock had heard him.

 

John abandoned his tea, coming over and sitting across from Sherlock on the sofa.  
Sherlock swallowed, and John knew something was going on.  
'What's wrong, Sherlock?' John asked softly, his brows knitting together in concern.  
Sherlock didn't say a word, instead, he swapped his usual seat for the one next to John and leaned against him.  
John's warmth, his yielding firmness bringing some measure of comfort.  
He snuggled in, resting his head against John's shoulder.

John put an arm around Sherlock's thin body, feeling his spine and ribs clearly through the fabric of the suit.  
He didn't much like being able to feel his bones like that, though he'd learnt long ago that his pleas for Sherlock to actually eat a proper diet at regular intervals were useless. At least Sherlock would snack throughout the day now, even if it wasn't really enough. It was something.  
He wished he'd known what to say, what to do... But, this was new, and he had no idea how to go about it.  
Was something terribly wrong? Was Sherlock simply having a bad day? Was he struggling with wanting to be cuddled but was wrestling with that feeling?  
John didn't know.  
'What is it, love? Eh?' John all but whispered, though Sherlock still didn't answer. John stifled a groan as the arm of the sofa began really digging into his back. 'Come on, let's go lie down, it'll be more comfortable.'

 

John and Sherlock had lain there for hours, not a word spoken between them, merely holding their bodies against one another.  
Sherlock had never dealt well with loss, and with anyone else he'd have been able to wall these suffocating feelings of sadness away.  
But, John wasn't anyone else, and he couldn't keep it all in. Neither could he let it all out.  
He had no idea how long they'd been laying like this, though he was grateful for John's gentle understanding of what he needed. He couldn't think what he would do now if it weren't for John.

Probably end up in some filthy flophouse for who knows how long, possibly overdose... nothing good.  
He looked into John's beautiful brown eyes, and it was then that whatever was holding it all together broke; deep sobs wracked Sherlocks's body, curling him into a tight ball against a rather shocked John.  
Sherlock couldn't stop, hadn't the strength to fight it.  
John kissed the top of Sherlock's head, holding him protectively, feeling a bit sick with sympathy. 'It's okay, it's going to be okay, Sherlock. I'm here for you, you're going to be all right.'

He wasn't sure if he ought to say anything, but couldn't help but try and soothe Sherlock.  
It was some time before Sherlock was calm enough that his breath no longer came in sporadic bursts and he'd stopped crying.  
'They're dead, John.' Sherlock managed, his throat raw and voice a croak. 'My parents, my mother and father, they're dead.'  
John felt a lump in his throat.  
Sherlock had never seemed overly fond of his parents, though he'd long suspected that to be an act.   
'Oh, Sherlock...' John murmered, giving him a squeeze.  
Losing a parent wasn't easy, but two in one go? 

'They were driving to visit a friend of theirs in Chichester when the left rear tyre burst and they careened off the road into a power pole. Dead on impact, apparently.' Sherlock continued, his eyes welling up again.  
'I'm sorry, Sherlock, I'm so sorry.' John told him, remembering the loss of each of his parents. It had struck him harder than he'd have imagined before it had happened. He hadn't thought about it in a long time, but was fresh in his mind now.  
'I... I always push... Pushed them away.' Sherlock sounded regretful. 'I put them through so much, yet they still were there as loving as ever. I've never been good at accepting or giving love; relationships have never been my area... They'll never know how much I did care about them.'  
John sniffled. 'They knew. I'm sure they did.'

Sherlock scoffed.  
'Parents know, Sherlock. You might not have shown you cared in the same way as most people, but it was there.' John said, having seen Sherlock and his parents together on a number of occasions.  
Sherlock let out a breath, shuddering as if he were cold.  
John pulled the comforter up over Sherlock's shoulders.  
'Showing affection is hard for you, and your mum and dad knew that. They understood.' John promised soothingly.  
Sherlock closed his eyes, feeling exhausted.

John wanted so much to take away all the pain and sorrow Sherlock was feeling. But, of course, he couldn't.  
John snaked his fingers through Sherlock's dark curls, gently combing the thick hair as Sherlock drifted into sleep.  
John knew that there was very little that he could do for Sherlock now, except be there for him.   
And, that's exactly what he would do.   
John would always be there for Sherlock. Til his dying day.


End file.
